HOME
by aliceann
Summary: This is set after the series finale. June is ill and Neal comes home from Paris to see her. A secret from June's past helps them become closer as they uncover their bonds of loss, forgiveness and family.
1. Chapter 1

**HOME**

**Chapter 1**

_Dear Neal,_

_I know we agreed to only use this communication for emergencies. June is ill. From what Elizabeth tells me, it's serious. I know you would want to know. Please, don't do anything rash._

_Love,_

_Peter_

**10 hours later**

He dreamed this moment over and over, vivid with longing, memory… need, and now painfully here. She kept his room just as he'd left it. As if nothing had happened. As if it always existed and always would. He bent over and took a few deep breaths, pushing away the thought he was too late.

Neal made his way out onto the balcony and looked over the city. The end of the day was always so beautiful he thought, so natural. The light was still clear. It was dark when he left Paris. The air itself seemed to vibrate and pulse with the heart of the city below. He hadn't expected this, he felt as if he could drown in the golds and oranges of the sun setting over the town he loved. He reminded himself the principle requirement of homesickness, is having a home. He closed his eyes.

June came up beside him. "She's beautiful, isn't she? You have a New York soul, Neal Caffrey," she joined him looking over the city. "Or should I call you Victor?"

"Oh, June," he turned and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm so sorry. Peter told me," his eyes glittered with tears.

"I should have been here," he said softly. She looked tired, but still beautiful. She was the kind of woman who was more beautiful in hard times.

"You know we don't say goodbye." She missed him terribly and held onto him more tightly than she intended. "It's so good to see you again," she said as she finally released him.

"Listen to me dear," she took both of his hands in hers. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"No. No one knows."

"Good." She was relieved and comforted in that knowledge.

"I can't believe you kept everything," Neal nodded to his apartment. He shook his head. She had given him so much more than she received from him.

"I know you'd come home. I believe in you," she squeezed his hand gently.

"I don't deserve that."

"What you deserve, is happiness. Tell me. Are you happy, Neal?"

"Today, I am," he placed her hand on his chest where he knew his heart to be.

"Come sit with me," she smiled. "I want to get a good look at you." At that moment Marguerite her housekeeper, confidant and longtime friend appeared.

"You should be resting, Mrs. E. The doctors said…."

"Doctors don't know everything, Marguerite. I'm fine and I'm quite tired of being cooped up and put away like some antique. Now please, do me a favor and bring Neal and me a pot of tea."

Marguerite huffed and looked over at Neal. "It's so good to have you back," she patted his arm. "She missed you terribly, maybe you can talk some sense into her." She headed back into the house.

"June, how serious is it? What have the doctors told you?"

"I told Peter not to tell you."

"Why?" he said gently.

"I didn't want to burden you with my illness and because it's not safe for you here yet."

After everything that happened, he should have been the one taking care of her he thought, not the other way around. He needed help and she gave it to him. He needed someone to have faith in him and she did. He needed a home and… He would do anything for her.

"There's no way I wasn't coming here tonight."

He reminded her so much of her Byron. Hesitation wasn't in his nature either. No sense in saying no. Tell him no and he'd get that same glimmer in his eyes. Marguerite returned with a steaming pot of tea and a large lavender colored afghan. She placed the tea service on the table.

"Since you're determined to be out here, I brought you this," she unfolded the afghan. "There's a chill in the air."

"Let me," Neal stood, took it from her and carefully wrapped the afghan around June's shoulders. Marguerite leaned in close, "Take care of her. She's run everybody else off." She disappeared back into the mansion.

"June, please. Talk to me. What have the doctors told you?" his hand trembled ever so slightly as he tried to pour the tea.

"I had cancer some years ago. It went into remission and now it's come back. Cancer's greedy like that, it wants more and more. It just sees bone and blood, things to devour. It doesn't see the wild magic in us."

For a moment he thought he had misheard her, the echo of his pulse was pounding so hard in his ears. He needed to breathe.

"I'm sorry to tell you like this," she stayed his trembling hand as the dark fragrant liquid spilled from her finest china teacup and spread out across the table cloth. "Sit here, next to me."

"Are you telling me you're dying?" he could barely manage the words.

"Everything is going to be all right now that you're here," she pulled him close to her. Do you remember the first day we met at that little thrift shop?"

"Like yesterday," his head was resting on her shoulder. He wanted time to slow down. "You saved me that day."

"I was standing there with all those beautiful suits Byron had worn. The midnight blue one, he wore that the night he danced with Billie Holliday," she smiled at the memory. "I was trying to decide what to do next. The door to my life with Byron had closed and my future was a question mark of chemotherapy and cat scans. And there you were, so handsome in Byron's suit, so alive."

For a moment he allowed himself back into the past and the safety of that time, a time when he still believed in things.

"I had the feeling something special was in store for me, unexpected and filled with hope and temptation just as he had been. Up until then, I was just marking time. Dressing up, but not really living."

"I never knew you were sick."

"The very next day after I left you, the doctor called to say I'd gone into remission."

"And now it's back," his voice broke. "I should never have left. I should have never put you through all that." She could feel his breathing quicken.

"You? You had nothing to do with this, child. All things end, if not now, then at some point."

"I don't want you to go," he knew how selfish… childish, he had no right but he couldn't control the words tumbling out. "I can't say good bye again. I…I just..."

"I have no plans of dying any time soon. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me that?" he looked up at her. She smiled, "Things come together sometimes and we don't know why, but we know it's right, meant to be. I'm going to beat this, just like before and now I have you back to help."

"Me? What can I do?"

"What you do best," she looked deep into his clear blue eyes. "You don't know what's inside you, not yet. Trust me."

He breathed out, for the first time since stepping off the plane. He felt the release of fear gripping his heart and then the fatigue as sleep overtook him.

"I didn't realize I was so tired."

"Sometimes you don't know just how tired you are until you close your eyes. Close your eyes, dear."

Time was suspended, it wasn't moving at all. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing evened as he laid against her. He was so calm, so peaceful, a beautiful sleeper. She could feel her shoulder come alive under his nodding head from the wild magic inside him. With infinite lightness, she pulled the afghan around him. It was right that he was here, that he was home. He stirred and mumbled something still asleep. She softly kissed the top of his head and whispered, _You never know who you might save in this world._

tbc

_**Author's Note:**_

_Adoptarescue_ was kind enough to ask me to consider continuing my Bedtime Stories series. I'm working on it, in the meantime I thought I might try a mix up of 'Always and Forever' with a grown up Neal. I think this works as a stand-alone story, but if you have a chance it might be neat for you to read _Bedtimes Stories, Always and Forever_ first. Reviews are always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**HOME**

**Chapter 2**

When he closed his eyes to sleep last night, it was if the rest of the world stopped. He slept so deeply, he was unaware Marguerite had come in and left fresh linens and a vase of newly cut flowers. The sweet notes of lilac and lily of the valley surrounded him like a living thing. For a moment he was neither asleep nor awake. He gave into waking and let his thoughts catch up to him. The new days light was giving shape back to the room, his room.

He slipped out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, the wide wooden floorboards cool beneath his bare feet. His stomach growled, he hadn't eaten since leaving Paris. He decided he couldn't put off his hunger any longer. Neal filled the kettle and quickly found a mug and tea bags. He wondered if the tin of honeycomb he'd left in his cupboard was still there. _Rayon de miel_, ray of sunshine Ellen called it the first time she gave him a bite. The childhood memory of the golden liquid leaking down his hands and Ellen ladling it onto hot buttered toast flooded through him.

His heart skipped a beat when he found the red and silver tin, exactly where he'd left it. He took a bite; simple, satisfying and perfect. It felt the way it had all those years ago. He sat quietly at the table, and sipped his tea. He trailed his hand over the warm mahogany of the dining table, caught between childhood memory and his life now. He'd fallen asleep while still talking to June, scraps of their conversation came back to him. For a giddy moment he almost forgot. It didn't seem real to him, first Ellen and now June. This couldn't happen to her.

He cleared away the table. It was the last thing he did the day he left his life here behind and ruined everything. It was often the last thing he did before he left for school as a kid. If every dirty dish was cleaned and put in its place, he felt a sense of calm. Even if the wash hadn't been done in weeks, the refrigerator empty and the house falling apart, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was the beginning of him learning to hide in plain sight.

Mom would usually be passed out. She wouldn't wake up until long after he'd gone to school. She'd taken something again, some pill. There were reasons for it, he knew them all by heart. That he knew them was besides the point, if he couldn't do anything about it…fix it, fix her. He'd been hiding the pills from her when he could, but it made her desperate and angry. One night she went crazy and struck him so hard, tears burned his eyes. The next morning she had no memory of what she had done. She looked at him with eyes frighteningly blank, threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek and took no notice of his black eye. It was always hard leaving her, but when everything was going to shit and there wasn't enough space to even breathe, was it wrong to think about yourself, wrong to want to get out.

Everyone knew about it. "How's your mom? their voices soft and low. "Let us know if we can help?" but they never did. You feel ashamed for them and ashamed of yourself for wanting to get out. Maybe they can see something about you… that you can't.

_I don't deserve that._

_What you deserve, is happiness._

The words floated around in his head. June thought he deserved happiness. A happiness that wasn't bought and paid for, purchased with lies and half-truths, that wasn't stolen outright or made away with from some unsuspecting heart, happiness that was dependable... reliable. What an odd thought. She always saw something in him that he couldn't. All those years of wanting to escape, to run, and now all he wanted was to be right here. Whatever was left in him, whatever June saw in him would be enough. He wasn't running this time. He wasn't leaving her.

He slipped his phone from the jacket he left hanging on the chair last night.

_Bonjour Henri,_

_I'm going to be away longer than I thought on family matters. I'll contact you as soon as I know something._

_Victoir_

**wcwc**

June took the stairs to Neal's apartment. She leaned down to catch her breath, she hadn't taken these stairs in quite some time. She didn't intend to be restricted and compromised in her everyday life. She didn't intend to give up her freedom unless she had to. Until she had to. She was determined to prove the doctors wrong, she'd lost something and she wanted it back. She'd lost someone too, and she wanted him back. She wouldn't be cheated, she was greedy for time now. Last night with just a slip of moon high in the eastern sky, she had a sudden urge to check that Neal was still there, safe in his bed. She put her hand on the metal handle of the French patio door and crept into his room.

It was the largest room on the third level of the house. Byron ran cards out of it. That all changed when she got pregnant with their third child. He promised her he was done and to prove it he dismantled his gaming operation and converted it into a special space for them with a nursery for the baby. So much time had passed since then, the air stirred with long ago memories. In the moonlight, she could make out Neal's head on the pillows. Her job done, she stole out of the room and closed the door behind her.

She stood in the hall now, thinking. Was it a mistake to want him home? The moment passed, she knocked on Neal's door.

"It's June."

A moment later Neal appeared, pulling his robe about him.

"I have some freshly baked scones and assorted goodies, compliments of Marguerite. She's bound and determined to fatten you up. I hope you don't mind my dropping by."

"Of course not. Come in, let me take that."

"They're still warm."

Neal frowned, "June you shouldn't be waiting on me."

"Why?" she said quickly, before he could raise any more objections. "I'm fine."

He searched her face as though all his previous examinations hadn't revealed what he sought now. What he found was a steadfast calm in her expression. His shoulders relaxed.

"I have tea," he smiled.

"Thank you."

He put the kettle back on the stove to boil. He returned with a plate and Marguerite's still warm scones, his tin of honeycomb and two cups.

"It's still early," he nodded.

June took a mouthful of tea. "This is the time I've always loved best," she watched the sun fill the room setting the shadows to flight. "You know there used to be a wall in this room, right over there."

"This is where you told me Byron had his casino," Neal looked out into the room.

"Byron was making lots of money. I thought he was. Enough to get out of the life he said. I was pregnant. A change of life baby, is what they called it back then. Byron was over the moon. We already had the girls, he loved them to pieces, but I knew he always hoped for a son. I had this feeling it would be a boy."

Neal poured her another cup of tea.

"Byron closed down the games. All spring we hammered away and painted. I had spring fever, everything was in bloom, everything seemed possible. We were perfectly happy. I wanted that spring to last forever. I asked Byron to plant us a spring garden."

"Is that where these came from?" Neal nodded to the vase of freshly cut flowers on the night stand next to his bed.

"No. I wanted something that was just for us, hidden away from guests and the public. It was Byron's idea to replant the back garden. He built a wall and garden gate. Everything we felt we put into that garden, our love was there in that soil."

"What happened to it?"

"Ford happened. He knocked on our door one day. He'd been sitting there just outside the gate to the garden... waiting, nearly drunk. He asked if we could put him up, said he was at loose ends again. Byron could never refuse him anything," June shook her head.

"And what he wanted was for Byron to get back into the life, right?" Neal said.

"I knew the moment he and Byron saw each other. Byron wanted it too. Trouble followed Ford no matter where he was, and it always landed at Byron's feet. Byron always forgave him, they'd grown up together, it was the only thing they shared. Ford was a man who didn't understand love. He never had anyone to take care of him. Byron thought he could fix that. Thought he could save Ford the way our love had saved him. But Ford was like a man jumping off a bridge and nothing was going to break his fall."

"I know the type," Neal looked away. He knew what it felt like to have done everything wrong.

"Your'e nothing like Ford, trust me," June reached over and laid her hand on his. "Ford never claimed to have a conscience, he never felt a pang of regret for anything. He wasn't the kind of man who would walk through fire for the woman he loved."

"But Byron loved you."

"I was young and misguided by my certainty about love. A man like Byron needed someone to have faith in him, he needed someone to believe in him...to protect him."

"From himself, mostly, I'd guess," Neal said quietly.

"I was so angry and disappointed. I lost sight of that. We fought. I couldn't go through him going to prison again. I couldn't bring a new life into that and put the girls through it again. I said he had to chose. We were standing right there." The memories came rushing back to her.

_"You don't think I see what he's getting at."_

_"Baby, he's not the same man anymore," his eyes begged her to believe him._

_"Well tell him that. Because he looks just like the old Ford to me. Tell me I'm wrong, Byron."_

_"He just needs a break, is all. One more score and he can get from under the trouble he's in."_

_"It's always just one more score. You promised me, Byron. You promised us. I won't do it again. Tell him he has to leave, tell him your done. You are done? "_

_Byron couldn't answer._

"I took the girls and left."

"And the baby?" Neal said.

"We lost the baby. He was still born. He never got the chance to cry. He lost his life before he was even aware of it." She was locked in her thoughts for a moment, as tears filled her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, June." He squeezed her hand, encouraging her to go on.

"Today, he'd be a man who loved life, generous and smart, prone to spring fever. He would have perfect timing like his father. That precious baby boy, he would have been your age if he lived."

"Neal, there's something I need to ask you."

"Anything."

"I want a spring garden."

tbc

**_Author's Note:_**

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. For all you guest reviewers, I'm sorry I can't respond to you individually. I really really miss White Collar, needless to say. It's been incredibly satisfying to immerse myself back into that world again, especially from June and Neal's perspectives. I hope to have the next chapter up soon. Take care.


	3. Chapter 3

**HOME**

**Chapter 3**

The stone walls were still standing and the garden gate had not rusted completely, Neal made quick work of the ancient lock. He followed June into the garden. Every shrub was mottled, weeds and nettle covered everything. He was standing next to an enormous apple tree whose fruit had fallen, left to rot on the ground. They stood there in the shadow of the tree and stared at each other. He could tell from June's breathing she was gathering herself**,** marshaling her forces.

"We don't have to do this, if you're not ready," he said softly.

"It's not that. It's…you can't imagine how beautiful it was."

"Byron loved this garden. Most mornings I found him out here crouched down on both knees in the dirt. He swore he could hear the plants growing. Thing is he didn't know a lick about gardening when we started."

"He didn't believe in getting his hands dirty. He didn't believe in hard work or luck for that matter. He believed in him. There was a time he thought he was indestructible."

"He believed in you," Neal smiled.

"He said, I was the only thing that made him vulnerable. For me he would get his hands dirty and that's how this garden started."

They walked a little farther, until they came to the corner and June stopped. Neal stopped too. One of the old roses Byron planted had managed somehow to bloom. Not trusting herself to speak and feeling slightly light headed, June took a deep breath. It was as if she was watching her past come to life, on the spot where she had been so unforgiving. She felt Neal's hand on her back gently steadying her.

"I'm here," he said to her.

"I wanted a garden that would always remind of us how we felt then. How perfect our lives were, our forever garden."

"When we lost the baby, Byron blamed himself. He could never let go of that baby boy. I wanted to bury our baby here in the garden. Byron wouldn't hear of it." Her voice was low and tired.

"June, are you alright?" Neal could feel something change in the garden, almost like a drop in air pressure.

"I'd like to rest a moment. There's a bench here." They walked over the grass arms linked, and sat down together.

"After the burial Byron stayed out here all night. I could hear him crying." She remembered that awful sound as if it were yesterday.

_Finally he came to bed, she pulled him close and wrapped him in between their sheets. She lay beside him searching for the man she loved. The grief he felt had taken on a life of its own, separate and apart from him. Finally his breathing evened, his chest rose and fell, slow and easy. Finally asleep. She slipped out of the room and quietly made her way to the garden. She fell to her knees, not knowing her body could give out like that when she saw what he had done._

"He stamped down all the seedlings, ripped the roses from the earth. He pulled down every vine until his hands bled. Everything we had worked so hard to grow. All of it gone. He sealed the garden and never set foot in it again."

"June, you don't have to do this."

"He was never quite the same then. He became reckless and sloppy, his impeccable timing gone."

"Is that when he went to prison?" Neal continued her train of thought.

"I think he wanted to get caught and Ford was there to oblige him."

"Byron was a man who couldn't let go of his pain. It was impossible for him," she looked at Neal and thought _not this time. _Time was precious and she didn't have any to waste now. She knew how punishing the world could be for a man who'd lost his way. He'd already lost too much and she wouldn't see him lose one more thing.

"Why didn't you tell me that Peter has a plan that could bring you home?"

Neal was totally caught off guard by her question. He could see by the look in her eyes she would not be deterred. He decided the best offence was a good defense.

"I told him not to discuss it with anyone, and he went and told you."

"Of course he did," she said not missing a beat. "Peter said you haven't answered him."

He came out here to help her, not the reverse. But it always felt so natural when she reversed the roles on him. How lucky he would have been to be seen through her eyes when he was growing up. She saw the good in him, even when it wasn't there.

"It's complicated and it just doesn't affect me."

"I can't continue to put the people I love in danger. I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to protect Peter and his family. June, you know this better than anyone. "

"I know Peter Burke is a rock, solid and dependable as they come and he loves you like family. If he told you he found a way and it was safe, then it is."

"He thinks it's simpler than it is."

"Doesn't sound like Peter. Why don't you tell me what he said?"

"French Interpol traced guns used in the Charlie Hebdo terrorist massacre to the Pink Panther organization operating out of Paris. It appears they were involved in arms sales and money laundering with links to various terrorists organizations. A task force composed of Europol, Eurotrust, CIA, NSA and FBI was established to track down and apprehend anyone involved. Virtually everyone around the world is hunting them."

"What does that mean for you?"

"Peter believes the Panthers organization is dead and any freelance actors have been driven completely underground. To come out of hiding would certainly be a death sentence. He feels their ability to settle old scores or pose any threats are nonexistent. "

"But you don't believe him?"

"I… I can't."

"I think you can. It's not the panthers you're afraid of." She looked at him carefully.

No one could understand how much he wanted to believe it. No one could imagine how much he wanted to be home. The fancy shops and cafes, the spectacular galleries of the Louvre meant nothing to him. Paris could be a cruel and lonely city, when a man had no hope. He'd come to accept a life far different from the one he once wished for. He couldn't bear any more false hope.

"Look around you June. This is what men like me do, ruin everything. I'm afraid I'm more like Ford than you know. As much as I want to deny it, I'll get that same itch under my skin. Sooner or later I have to satisfy it. One more job, one more adrenaline ride. I'll want that big score and when I do, I'll hurt everyone around me."

"I won't plan to. I won't mean to. I won't be able to unwind the string that unravels all our lives." He wished he knew her when he was still a boy, before he decided to follow his desires at all costs.

"You're wrong, Neal."

"I wish I was wrong. My mother saw it. She saw my father in me and she knew. She knew one day I would be one of those men who ruin everything. She wanted to love me," he could feel his breath catch in his throat. He tried so hard to be loved by her. He willed his eyes to remain dry. There are limits to your will. He looked away from her.

"You don't have to hide from me," she turned his face back toward her. "You weren't to blame for your mother's grief. You weren't to blame because she couldn't let go of her pain enough to take care of her precious child. You can't let her sorrow or yours follow you the rest of your life."

"Grief destroyed this garden, Neal."

"You don't know how much I want to come home," tears filled his eyes as the dreams of home that woke him shivering in the middle of the night flooded through him. He hadn't understood how alone he was until he wasn't.

"I'm afraid."

"I'm afraid too," she was holding his hand. "I've made mistakes too. Maybe there is a cure for something that is lost or ruined. Things fall apart and wither away. But some things went on, growing even when no one was watching." She looked at the scraggly rose, clinging to the stone wall.

"Byron lost his son and he was never going to let this garden be cared for again. But the garden went on. It forgave him."

"Come home, Neal."

tbc

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and sticking with this story. It's not as dramatic or suspenseful as some of the stories I've written, it's smaller in some ways. I've always wondered about Neal's back-story and this gave me a chance to explore that a little. Anyway, hope to update soon.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**HOME**

**Chapter 4**

Neal worked in the garden for weeks. Once he started he couldn't stop. Pruning, cutting back decades of old growth, his hands were calloused and nettles caught in his hair. The redemptive power of hard work crept into his muscles and invaded his blood. He relished the feeling. He hardly took a break since taking June for her doctor's visit to Memorial Sloan Kettering. Since then he dug and weeded, dug and planted.

He hated hospitals. June said technically, the hospital was next door and they were going to the 64th street outpatient clinic. No matter, he still hated hospitals. He was phobic about such places, had to literally be bleeding out to ever voluntarily step into one. Hospitals were where broken people got fixed, but in his experience they kept breaking.

He was eight years old the first time his mom overdosed. Ellen was out of town and the next door neighbors helped him when he couldn't get her to wake up. He remembered her hair and how it was a dark tangle across her face. They took her to the hospital. He thought _finally_ someone was going to fix her. But he couldn't get happy about it, not yet anyhow. She had gotten clean before. Maybe being in the hospital would scare her into doing better, it certainly scared him.

Everyone ignored him at first, they were so busy with her. He tried to take up as little space as he could. Make himself even smaller. They were so focused on getting his mom breathing again. He tried to breathe quietly. He was already practiced at disappearing, no one even saw him after a while. Little did he know the skill would come in handy years later, when he became an escape artist extraordinaire. June had made him promise not to treat her like a patient or hover, as a condition of coming with her. She could always see through his disguises.

Dr. Younes was a tiny woman, her dark auburn hair pulled away from her face into a ponytail, a splash of red on her lips. She was nothing like he expected, he expected someone larger than life. Someone who did battle with monsters. Anna Younes was one of the top oncologists at Sloan Kettering, and a good friend of June's. She specialized in cellular therapeutics.

Neal stood and shook her hand, as she came into the nicely appointed room. He smiled brightly, hoping he didn't look as young and desperate as he felt.

"Mr. Caffrey?"

"Yes, call me Neal. Is June ready?"

"She's getting dressed. We have some time. Please, take a seat. June tells me you're a good friend."

"How is she?" he leaned forward in his chair.

"I'll let her tell you. She did give me permission to discuss her treatment, she thought it would help you. You know that June's been involved in one of our clinical trials. We are testing drugs that are designed to interrupt or restrain the molecular process that tumor cells require to grow and spread, especially in refractory cases."

"Translational therapy," Neal nodded. "It's where you teach your own immune cells to become more adept at killing cancer cells."

"You've done your homework."

"It's June."

"She's always been a good judge of people," Dr. Younes smiled. "Yes, in this therapy we remove the T cells that play a crucial role in the immune system and then reprogram them by transferring in new genes."

"And that's what June's been getting in this trial?"

"Yes. Each modified cell multiplies to 10,000 cells."

"Okay," he breathed out. "Then you have an army tracking down and killing the cancer."

"That's what we hope for, Neal. Some of our patients have gone into complete remission, some partial remission and then there are the others."

"And June?"

"The engineered cells we transferred back into June are still present, but they haven't mobilized."

"What does that mean? Does she need more?"

"June's completed her clinical trial. There is nothing more we have here to offer her at this point."

For once in his life he was at a loss for words. He sat back in the chair, stunned.

"June said the night you came to see her, was the first night they spotted a coyote in Manhattan."

"What?" He had stopped listening to Dr. Younes. "Oh, Yeah I remember hearing about that."

"June said it was a sign. In mythology the coyote is often thought of as a trickster. Cunning, sly creatures who often wreak havoc, but they also have magical properties, natural healing ability."

"Why are you telling me this? How in God's name does some child's story help June?" He felt a wave of anger and then the anger turned to something else. He was unravelling, he was eight years old all over again. But he refused to drown his indignation in a sea of platitudes about human frailty and the limitations of medicine.

"Your stories aren't saying anything to me! You're like all the rest, you promise to fix people, when you know they're not fixable."

"Your right," Anna didn't hesitate. "I believed I could fix people. I had a plan, but then I watched people who should have survived die within days and people who had no chance to live… live for years. Now I believe in ten thousand plans, I believe in my patients and June believes in you."

"And what has that gotten her?" he felt so lost and small. Anna Younes was a doctor, she looked death in the face. Her duty was clear. What did he have to offer?

"You, Neal. It's gotten her you," she held her gaze steady on him. "The potential is there for someone's fate to change until their last moment. I've seen people facing overwhelming odds find greatness in themselves by finding purpose."

Neal went to stand against the window, New York seemed emptier to him.

"I just want to help her," he said softly.

"You don't have to fix her, to do that. Can I tell you a secret?"

"Please."

"Goliaths aren't what we think they are, and Davids come in many forms, even a coyote in Manhattan. I trust June."

"Hello," June said as she opened the door to greet them.

"Anna, I see you've met Neal." Before Neal could react she stepped in and embraced him, "Thank you for being here." He looked at her with fear and hope both inexplicably coexisting in his eyes as she wrapped calm around them like Marguerite's lavender afghan.

That conversation seemed ages ago, as Neal was comforted now by the earth between his fingers. Miracles were popping up all around him, dead branches of once flowering shrubs springing back to green, buds beginning to form, and vines sending out tender shoots. And best of all, the little rose against the wall was thriving under his care. If this one rose could flourish in this abandoned place, then maybe anything could happen. One more day in the garden is what he wished for each morning now. He was so engaged, he could only hear the steady rhythm of his own breathing.

"Are you ever coming in?" June called out to him.

He didn't hear the garden gate open and June walk over.

"Marguerite's been cooking all morning, she says you need a proper meal in a proper setting. No more dining al fresco for you. I must admit, it's good having her attention directed elsewhere."

She found herself weakening more each day now, tiring easily and wanting less of her old friend's cooking.

"I snuck you these cakes and a bottle of pinot. Don't tell anyone about this," she smiled.

"Do you think she saw you?" Neal whispered.

"Marguerite? She's in the kitchen singing along to Billie Holiday." Neal laughed. It was a wonderful sound, like magic to her ears. His breath smelled sweet, like apples June thought. He was her very own Johnny Appleseed. She couldn't help laughing too.

Marguerite, of course, watched the encounter in the garden from the kitchen window. She smiled when she saw Neal make quick work of the little cakes and lick the crumbs from his fingers. She often brought trays of food to his room at night, not even bothering to knock and bowls of warm water and eucalyptus oil for his blistered and aching hands. She left vases of fresh flowers for him in the mornings, after nights he spent sitting by June's bed as she slept.

"Speaking of Billie Holiday. How come you never mentioned Byron danced with her and I wore that very suit?"

"That's a long story."

The trimming of the apple tree would have to wait until another day, and most of the annual beds were in already.

"I have time." Neal sat down in the grass and June joined him.

"Oh, Billie. She was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever met. She had a mixture of strut and sweet, that was hard to resist. It came alive in her music. The music scene here was very different then, everything was happening downtown in tiny out of the way clubs. Byron and I went out to one of these places where the local guys gigged. Lester Young was doing a solo and Teddy and Artie were shaking the rafters. I mean they were cooking on the front burners, when Billie came in."

"Wow that must have been incredible."

"It was and then some. She sat down at our table, like we were old friends. She had a twinkle in her eyes back then, and a smile in her voice. Byron asked her to dance."

"You didn't mind," Neal looked up at June.

"No, she smiled. I would have minded if he didn't."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"I did. The last time she was in New York. I was singing in the Village. I didn't know if she would remember me, a lot had happened to both of us by then. She said I remember you. You were with the blue suit."

"Byron, I said."

"He was trouble that one." And then she said to me, "Well, you make it work. It ain't no good this way."

June's manner changed, as she thought over that long ago conversation. "She was something special, a beautiful singer that one, no amount of drugs could destroy that."

"My mother was a singer," Neal said almost matter of fact.

"Your mother?"

"Ellen said she was a natural singer and she gave it up when she married my father. The only time I remember her singing was when I had the flu as a kid. She said you had to feed a fever. She made some awful concoction. I really wasn't hungry, the last thing I wanted was food. But I forced myself to please her. Then she started singing to me. When I woke up, she said my fever broke."

"Love doesn't have to be complicated," June patted his hand. "Some people like Billie, learned that too late."

Neal could feel the rightness of June's words. Because it was love that took him all the way to Paris and then brought him right back to here.

"I want to show you something. First, take off your shoes. The grass is amazing." He stood and helped June to her feet. They walked in the warm grass to the corner of the garden.

"Stand right here. Now close your eyes and don't move. Don't even blink." Neal positioned her in front of his best work.

"Okay, now you can look. It's not quite the view as from up there, he looked up to the balcony."

"My God, it's so beautiful Neal."

She slipped her arm around his waist, and started to cry. It was Byron's rose, in full bloom. She could feel the heart of the garden in that rose, pulsing through her quickening her blood. It was if the whole world was alive.

_In that moment she knew, she was going to hold onto a world where roses grew, the air was sweet and men defied their fate and succumbed to spring fever._

_Tbc_

**Author's Note: **_Many thanks again to all of you who have commented and are following, favoring and sticking with this story. I said back to someone recently, that we never got as much June and Neal time as I would have wanted on the show. It's so nice that so many of you share that sentiment as well. Matt Bomer and Diahann Carroll had such wonderful chemistry, if I come even close to capturing that I'm a happy camper. Hope to have the final chapter up soon. _


	5. Chapter 5

**HOME**

**Chapter 5**

"It's impossible, but it grows more beautiful every day," June said of the garden Byron had begun long ago.

Neal knew that June was growing weaker. She tired more easily, but not a day passed by when she didn't come down to the garden and walk in the green grass. She insisted on being barefoot now, so she could feel the warmth of the soil and the roots of her garden beneath her. Some days she dozed in the garden until it was nearly dark. He was a fortunate man to be sitting beside her in the garden in the last green days of spring. Just to be there, nothing more, meant everything to him.

"Let's go on in," he said softly.

She was resting on the bench Byron had given her as a gift, but now she was unsteady and could barely sit up. She shifted and leaned her head against Neal. She could hear the strong and steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"You're right," she said. "I'm tired."

He carried her back inside. She felt extremely light, as though made of the sweet air that filled the garden. With every step he wished for one thing, another day in their garden.

All he could bear now was the comfort of the soil between his fingers. Working in the garden Byron had planted consumed him, at least here what he buried now rose again to life. He was on his hands and knees, tending a bed of newly planted lilacs. He hardly took much notice of anything else other than what he planted these days.

"I see why you spend so much time here," Peter Burke shouted out to him. He was leaning against the garden gate. Neal blinked back the sunlight. He brushed the dirt from his hands and knees and pushed open the gate.

Peter's expression held no questions, just affection as he pulled them both together. It was what Neal needed at that moment in the garden, as the two embraced.

Neal gave a short laugh. Peter knew that laugh, in all its changeable forms. There was a tiny core, an inflection that knew Peter was withholding something from him. Peter knew his partner well enough not to pursue it, but in the end he couldn't help himself.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing."

"It's something. You laughed."

"Can't a man be happy to see his best friend?"

"Neal?"

Peter stepped back from the embrace and looked Neal in the eyes. He could see the laugh, percolating there.

"I merely want to know what you find so funny."

"June sent you. Didn't she?" Then Neal laughed again, a hearty and heartfelt laughter. The first in weeks.

"C'mon on Peter. I'm right and you know it."

"Okay. Guilty as charged," he gave a soft groan.

"When did she call?" Neal continued his interrogation.

"This morning. I would have come sooner, but…"

"I've missed you," Neal smiled.

"I've missed you too. How you holding up?"

Neal took a while to answer and Peter didn't rush him. They walked together in silence through the garden. Coming to stand beneath the ancient apple tree, Peter felt overwhelmed. It was as if he stumbled into a foreign land, an enchanted land. He could see Neal's hand, the hand of a master artist. Every shade of blue, green and purple, every tint and hue illuminated in the brilliant May light. Pollen hung in the air as bees floated from bloom to bloom. Leaves rustled in the hedges where sparrows nestled. Flowers tucked into every crevice, filling every inch and hole. Green things unfurled as far as the eye could see. The air damp and sweet moved through him in some deep way. The abundance of life was stunning. But the wall of rose buds was breathtaking.

"It's really something," Neal said.

"I know," Peter breathed in the fragrant air.

Neal spoke with a smile in his voice when he looked out at the garden wall. He had taken Byron's rose and grafted it to a climbing variety that ran the entire garden perimeter. It didn't look like much now he thought, but it was thriving and in time…he was living an unexpected life where time was the only currency that mattered to him.

"In time, 10,000 roses will grow here," he said wistfully. "She has good days and bad. Some days it's as if nothing is wrong, other days she's so weak. I had to carry her back to the house earlier."

"I'm so, so sorry, Neal."

Peter's tone offered comfort and he took it.

"What have her doctors said?"

"Dr. Younes comes by almost every day now. Clearly, she's a woman who doesn't mind taking on an unattainable task. She's not scared by what others think is unobtainable."

"And you?" Peter searched his friend's eyes.

"I work in the garden," he wiped his tears with the palms of his hands. There was a time he would have turned away. Tried to exist unobserved, shed the weight of Peter's eyes. But not now. He owed June self-awareness. This is what love looks like in the world.

Peter knew then that the garden was Neal's attachment to her now, how he held on to her.

"June's worried about you, Neal. She says you haven't left here since coming back from Sloan Kettering."

"She shouldn't worry. I'll be fine. Maybe not today, but in time. I'm grateful she called you."

There was a look in his eyes and a tone in Neal's voice Peter tried to identify. Gauging a dishonest man had always come so easily to him, this was different. The emotion then penetrated…honesty. He wasn't holding anything back. Neal was a man with nothing to hide. It was as if the garden had relieved something in him. Something lost had been found.

"This is where I needed to be, Peter. I don't know if I can explain it."

"Try," Peter said gently.

"June led and I followed."

Some people needed to be led by the hand or they would miss what's most important in their life. He reached down and felt the warmth of the soil and strength of the roots between his fingers. It connected him to the heart of the garden, it flowed like blood through him.

"June asked me to believe in myself. I understood the words, but I didn't know what they meant. I didn't know if I could believe, after so much deceit, so many secrets and lies. So instead, I believed in her and in this garden."

The day he came back from the clinic he began to dig in the rich earth with an old wooden shovel of Byron's he had found. Tired and sweating he lay down in the cool grass. Ferns were growing wild all around him and blue irises, his fingers turned green with the sap. Sparrows perched on the branches of the apple tree and warblers sang in clear sweet notes. If he listened closely, he could hear the sound of dragonflies lite on rows and rows of jack in the pulpits. His senses reeled from the abundance of life, the heat of it, and the connection of it. He could have stayed in that moment forever. There were ghosts in the grass, grief and joy lie next to each other. He felt bereft and unburdened all at once.

"June told me that we have wild magic in us and it's stronger than any cancer. It's because it comes from connections, so deep they can't be uprooted…not even by giants. It comes from family and friends. Sometimes it ambushes you," he looked at Peter and smiled. "Sometimes it lays dormant in a garden waiting to be cared for."

"June's a wise woman," Peter nodded. "In more ways than one. She made me promise to take you out on the town tonight. She said Angela Roberts was covering Billie Holiday at Small's Jazz Club. Oh, and yeah she said to tell you Angela was a natural singer and to not take no from you. Go get cleaned up."

Angela Roberts proved everything June claimed her to be. It was a magical night as they listened to the music and talked and talked rediscovering each other into the wee hours of the night. Neal's head rested against the car seat as Peter turned on to Riverside Drive.

"Neal, there's something I've been wanting to tell you. You don't have to make any decisions, but you need to know this."

"Okay," Neal turned and looked over at him.

"The FBI is willing to wipe your slate clean."

"What do you mean? Wipe my slate clean?" he shifted forward.

"After we thought you had been killed… Mozzie," it was still hard for him to think back to that day. "Mozzie filed that wrongful death lawsuit against the Bureau. Once the anger dissipated and the grief took over, he stopped pursuing it. He stopped everything."

"Oh, Moz," Neal sighed as he thought of his friend.

"Well, the Bureau would like it off the books."

"And?"

"Let's just say with the right encouragement and some creative administrative sleight of hand, the Bureau is willing to expunge Neal Caffrey's record and everything they ever had on him."

"How's that even possible?" Neal looked doubtfully at Peter. "Even if it were, the FBI can't raise the dead. Neal Caffrey died."

"Neal Bennet didn't. You could come home with a clean record, a clean identity, a free man."

A look passed between the two men. In it was everything they hoped for.

"Just think about it," Peter laid his hand on Neal's. "Tonight was incredible, June's a wise woman indeed and Angela Roberts was a revelation, El would love her. Speaking of which, I need to be getting home. Give my love to June."

"Thank you. For everything," Neal stepped back from the curb and watched Peter's car pull away into the night.

Instinctively he found himself heading to the garden. Neal looked up at the sky, it was scattered with stars. The last song of the evening's set _All My Tomorrows_ played through his head. He stood a moment longer in the starlight, then he saw her; lying in the grass near Byron's bench, like a bird that's fallen from the sky. He dropped to his knees besides her. June was so quiet. He leaned down to make sure she was breathing. She was, softly.

"Hey," Neal said when at last June opened her eyes. She had been dreaming that she and Byron were walking down the lane, under a bower of budding green trees swinging their little boy between them. Then she saw Neal and he looked as handsome as that day she first met him in the thrift store.

"I fell asleep waiting for you. I wanted to be here in the garden when I told you the news."

"It can wait. Let's get you to bed," he said gently.

"Neal," she took his hand. "Anna says I have 10,000 new cells. She says they are stubborn like me, they won't be dictated to or perform as scheduled. She's says there is evidence of even more forming."

"Oh dear," she touched his face. "Don't cry. I want to hear all about the music now. Tell me everything."

"Well, they were cooking on the front burner, over high heat," he began.

They sat there for the longest time, until the moon ended and the sun began. They talked about jazz, about Paris and Harlem. They talked about family and love, miracles and hope.

Once June was safely tucked in bed, Neal came back down to the garden. He felt as if he were a blade of grass, dew was on his feet. It was true, you could hear plants grow. Anything was possible, in the garden. He'd lived too long at a distance from his roots. He dialed the long unused number on his phone.

"Hello?"

"Mom, its Neal."

_The end._

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**I'm sorry it took a while to get this last chapter up. I kind of got thrown by where I wanted it to end. I knew I wanted to bring Peter back into the story. It started with him reaching out to Neal. I guess I wanted to somehow blend the fantasy or magical aspects of the story involving June and Neal with more of the realism which Peter always represents for me. **_

_**As much as I enjoyed the series finale and Neal finally gaining his freedom, it was so very bittersweet. In my head cannon and heart, Neal will always be walking the streets of NYC, which is home for him. Now that I have him back, well, we'll see.**_

_**Thank you all for sticking with my story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**_


End file.
